


forget me not

by somehowunbroken



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, PTSD, Pre-Slash, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the game ends and remakes the world, it restores everything to how it was before, erasing the memories of pretty much everyone involved. Suddenly Dave is the only one of his friends who remembers anything about the game, and he's starting to wonder if he really is as crazy as he sounds.</p><p>Also for longfic_bingo: hallucinations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forget me not

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on [this drawing and idea by tinkerlu](http://tinkerlu.tumblr.com/post/41180741561/ok-so-i-know-this-has-been-an-au-thing-before-but). The idea grabbed me and wouldn't let go, and they gave their permission for me to run with the idea. Thanks, tinkerlu :)

The first thing you learn about the game is that it loves to fuck people over.

It’s practically a driving principle: see a player doing well, throw something at them to make them swerve. It happened to you, it happened to the trolls, it happened to the weird alternate versions of your guardians after you scratched. The game hates winners, or so it seems.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Kanaya observes. You’re chilling out on the meteor, waiting for not-John’s-grandma Crocker to finish some sort of something so you can all get out of this fucking game. Just a few minutes, she’d said. An hour has gone by. You’re still waiting.

“Yeah?” you ask, glancing at her. “It’s not like the game made it easier for anyone at any point, did it?”

“I don’t think the game has the ability to hate,” she says. “It is, after all, nothing more than code.”

Karkat snorts and folds his arms across his chest. “Code can be a hateful prick, Kanaya. As much as it pains me to say it, I’m with Strider.”

“That means we win,” you add instantly. “If the two of us agree on anything, it must be true.”

This time it’s Rose who snorts, laying a hand on Kanaya’s shoulder. “Let it go, dear. There’s no use in arguing with a brick wall. Or two, as the situation may stand.”

If looks could burn, Rose would be a pile of ashes from the twin glares you and Karkat send her way. As it is, she smirks and tips her head at something behind you. “Also, we’ve got something else we need to be doing.”

You look over your shoulder to see Jane coming over the hill, something clutched in her hand. You have no idea what it is, but when she sets it against the door in the flickering SBURB logo that none of you had been able to pry open, it dims once more before shining brightly. Jane stands and puts her hand on the knob; you can see her take a deep breath and close her eyes, and then she twists and tugs.

It pops open.

You’re all silent for a moment before Karkat sighs noisily. “Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here,” he says. “I am so goddamned sick of this, you have no idea.”

“I think we might have a clue,” you say, clapping him on the shoulder and heading for the door. “But once again, Vantas, you and I are in complete agreement.”

-0-

You groan as you blink your eyes open, looking around your bedroom. You were… sleeping? And you had a dream about…

You sit up in an instant, your memories jolting back into place so hard you can almost taste them. You try to get out of bed so quickly that you get tangled in your sheets, and your hand reaches for a sword you’re no longer carrying to cut the problem away.

After a moment of flailing you get yourself untangled, and then you’re out of your bedroom and into the den in a flash step. You’re not quite holding your breath, but there’s no denying the sick little ball of dread in your stomach. You skid to a stop in front of the futon, and Bro turns over and glares at you, still more than half asleep. He’s the right age, wearing the right clothes, and you’ve never been happier to see anyone in your entire collection of lives.

“Th’ fuck,” he groans. “Where’s the fire?”

“Oh my God,” you croak. “Are you – is everything – oh my _God_.”

“Dave?” He’s a little more with it now, and his forehead wrinkles like he’s concerned. He sits halfway up on the futon. “You okay?”

“No,” you choke, not even hesitating before you throw yourself at Bro, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. “I just – holy shit, Bro.”

“Hey, whoa,” he says. He sounds a little freaked out, but he hugs you back as well as he can. You’ve pinned him in kind of an awkward position. “Deep breaths, little dude. Calm down, okay, because you’re worrying me, and a worried Bro ain’t nobody’s friend.”

You laugh, or maybe sob, and cling tighter. Bro is back, he’s alive, he’s not bleeding out under your fingers. He’s rubbing your back and rambling in your ear about how you shouldn’t eat taquitos before bed, because they give you weird dreams, Dave, you know that-

You pull back and rub at your face. “I haven’t had taquitos in a really long time, Bro.” You can’t remember the last taquito you ate. They sound like heaven right now, taquitos or sesame chicken or pizza dripping with grease. You’ve had enough grubsauce for three lifetimes, thanks to the alchemiters on the meteor. You’re ready for some real food.

Bro is giving you a weird look. “You ate like seven of them last night,” he comments. “They were the shitty microwave ones, sure, but they still count.”

Now it’s your turn to frown. Last night you and Jade had been on food duty, and you had ended up with a big pot of Spaghetti-os, some fruit salad, and a grubloaf. Neither of you can cook for shit, so you do the meal-from-a-can thing when you end up on cooking duty together. Taquitos were beyond anyone’s ability to cook or alchemize, though, so you haven’t-

You freeze as it hits you: for whatever reason, Bro doesn’t remember. He thinks you’ve been here all along.

“Uh,” you say, trying to collect your thoughts. You blink rapidly, wishing you had remembered to grab your shades from your bedstand before rushing out of your room. “Wow, yeah. Guess my bad dream was worse than I thought if I forgot about that meal of champions.”

Bro nods and worms his way out from beneath you. He settles right beside you and tosses an arm over your shoulders, letting you lean into him without ribbing you at all. “Wanna tell me about it?”

If he doesn’t remember, you think, that’s better for him. Great, even. If he isn’t already having nightmares, you aren’t going to be the one to give them to him.

“Nah,” you say with a little shrug. “I’ll get over it. Cartoons?”

“Cartoons,” he agrees, fishing the remote out from between the futon cushions and turning the television on.

You watch reruns of Ren & Stimpy for a while until a thought catches you off guard. Maybe Bro doesn’t remember because he died in the game – really died, not the bullshit you pulled with your time loops or the god tier kind of dying. Maybe people who bite the big one and stay down don’t get to remember things when the game spits you out.

What a lucky asshole. Aside from the whole dying thing, sure, but still.

You decide that you don’t really want to think about it. If Bro doesn’t remember, then maybe you don’t have to. You shift and try to do some stealth cuddling, and Bro is pretty chill about letting you. It’s kind of weird, you can’t lie to yourself about that, because you’re pretty much the same age you were yesterday – your yesterday, where you’d spent years playing the game and chilling on the meteor and whatever. You’re not thirteen like you were the last time you saw Bro, but he doesn’t really seem concerned by your growth spurt.

There’s probably a more subtle way of figuring out what you need to know, but fuck subtlety. “Hey, Bro, what’s today?”

Bro looks at you for a minute with a frown on his face. He finally shrugs and reaches behind himself for his phone. He taps at the screen and tosses it to you. “It’s your buddy’s birthday.”

 **13 April 2013** , the phone informs you. There’s a notification banner underneath that reads **nic cage bday**.

Four years. Four fucking years, and the game spat you back out on the date it sucked you in.

“Happy fucking birthday,” you mutter, tossing Bro’s phone back at him. You’ll pester John later; right now, you’ve got some prime Bro time to revel in.

-0-

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] 

TG: happy birthday yo  
TG: pretty sweet present you got dont you think  
GT: hi dave!  
GT: eheh thanks man!  
GT: so what’s this sweet present of which you speak?  
TG: well i dont know man  
TG: look around  
TG: shits not all insane thats pretty fucking sweet  
GT: haha, i guess you’re right!  
GT: insanity is pretty much the worst.  
TG: i mean im assuming your dads there too  
TG: as presents go there pretty much isn’t anything bigger you could want  
GT: i guess?  
GT: i mean, he’s making me yet another shitty cake, so i don’t know how thankful i can be at the moment...  
TG: go with pretty fucking thankful  
TG: i mean  
TG: after all the shit that happened  
GT: um. dave, what are you talking about?  
TG: and get this man when i woke up bro was here  
TG: like damn son  
TG: literally all i could ask for  
TG: i mean fuck the game from here to hell and back again but hey it gave everything back in the end  
TG: guess i cant hate every single thing about it go figure  
TG: that is some world class irony right there  
GT: okay, dave, i am going to be completely honest with you right now.  
GT: i have no idea what you’re talking about.  
GT: did you have another one of those weird dreams? you need to snap out of it!

You blink at the screen, trying to come up with any explanation other than the one that first pops into your mind. There’s no way that John doesn’t remember the game. That can’t be it, because what the fuck, why would the game’s most important player have no memory of anything that went on? Bro, okay, you can get behind him not knowing, but John…

You stare at your computer as another screen pops up.

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

TT: Dave.  
TT: John tells me that you’ve had another dream.  
TT: Would you like to talk about it?  
TG: rose jegus please tell me you at least remember  
TG: i mean come on it was just  
TG: we were right there you and me and karkat  
TG: and kanaya  
TG: you remember kanaya  
TG: your scary ass glowing lesbian troll girlfriend  
TT: Hm.  
TG: hm what rose dont hm me this is freaking me the fuck out  
TT: You haven’t had a dream this bad in a while, Dave. Let’s see what we can do, okay?  
TG: rose this is not the time for your freudian psychobabble bullshit  
TG: what the fuck is going on  
TT: Okay, let’s try this. What do you see around you? Name things item by item. Don’t try to do everything at once.  
TG: what no fuck you  
TG: im in my bedroom theres bedroom shit  
TG: how is this supposed to help me  
TT: Please try, Dave. For me. Or, failing that, for John. He’s quite worried.  
TG: shit fine  
TG: uh i see my computer  
TG: desk  
TG: sweet posters  
TG: bed with card symbol sheets that i am going to fucking set on fire  
TG: clothesline with pictures hanging on it  
TG: wait  
TG: what the fuck  
TG: those are not the pictures i had hanging up there  
TT: You were telling me about those a few days ago, Dave. You took them over the weekend and developed them after school on Tuesday.  
TT: Look at those. Tell me about them.  
TG: i

The thing is, when you look more closely, you sort of do recognize the pictures. You can remember taking them, the weight of the camera in your hands as you played with the focus, trying to find the perfect blend of blur and sharpness to get the effect you wanted.

What. The fuck.

TG: rose  
TG: i dont  
TT: It’s okay, Dave. Do you remember?  
TG: yeah  
TT: That’s good. Do you feel better now?  
TG: uh

No. No, you sure fucking don’t.

TG: yeah  
TG: thanks rose  
TT: Of course, Dave.  
TT: I really wish you’d consider finding someone to talk to who has more than an amateur’s understanding of psychology.  
TG: what the actual fuck  
TG: what is this  
TG: rose lalonde bows to nobody elses grasp of psychology  
TG: hers is the only way dont you know that  
TG: rose youre breaking my worldview here  
TT: Well, if you’re snarking at me, you must be feeling a bit better.  
TT: Really, though. I may know more than your average high school senior, but I’m not yet a professional.  
TT: Forgive the “feelings mush,” Dave, but you’re one of my best friends.  
TT: John isn’t the only one who worries.

You have no idea how to reply to that.

-0-

Bro wakes you up for school on Monday morning, which is a fucking joke. You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry or pull the sheets over your head and pretend you’re not there, but none of those options would really work with Bro.

“Don’t make me go,” you mutter into your pillow. You hear Bro sigh and drop to the mattress.

“You gotta talk to me, Dave,” he says, more quiet than you’ve heard him in probably your entire life. “Those dreams – I know they wreck you up, but you never want to tell me about them.”

“Bro,” you say, turning to look at him. He’s got his cap in his hands, and he’s turning it inside out and popping it back into place. He’s staring out the window, and suddenly you see him at sixteen years old, hair a little brighter and a little more gravity-defying, the hat screened in orange on his shirt, a smile so sharp he’d sooner cut you with it than laugh out loud.

Bro chuckles and it shatters the spell. You blink and he comes into focus, looking at you over his shades. “And then you space out on me and look at me like I’m a ghost when you snap out of it,” he says. “Look, I know I’m a really terrible parental figure, but I give a shit, okay? I really fucking hate that you’re beating yourself to shreds over something that I can’t see.”

You look at his hands as his fingers flex, curling around an invisible hilt before he flattens them against his legs. You want to protest, to say that you know that he’d kill for you, that he’d die for you, holy fucking hell, do you know.

Instead you clear your throat and close your eyes, taking a breath. “I’m sorry, Bro. I just – I’m sorry, okay?”

“Never gotta say that to me,” he grumbles, reaching over to punch you lightly in the shoulder. “You okay for school, or should I call and tell them Great-Aunt Bessie died and we gotta jet for a few?”

You snort and open your eyes as you raise an eyebrow. “Dude, how many times has poor ‘Great-Aunt Bessie’ died by this point?”

“Eight or nine,” Bro says, shrugging. “Ain’t my fault they don’t keep records on extended family members.”

“They’re asking for it,” you agree, finally tossing the sheets off and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll make it.”

“Glad to hear it,” Bro replies. “And hey.”

You glance over at him. “Sup?”

“Just tell me you’re talking to someone,” he says, back to that weird quiet serious voice. “Tell me you’re not keeping all that shit in your head.”

“Yeah,” you say, looking away from him again. Your eyes settle on the photographs still hanging from the clothesline. “I’ve been talking to people. Person. Rose.”

“Good,” he says. “One more serious thing, and then we can go back to throwing smuppets at each other, promise.”

You can’t help how your eyes roll, really. “Maybe I prefer the serious shit.”

“Shut the fuck up and c’mere,” he says, grabbing you by the wrist and tugging. You’re surprised when you end up against his chest with his arms around you, but you’re not going to pass up the chance to smush your face into his shoulder and feel his heart beat under his skin. “Love you, dude.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, pressing your face against his shoulder even more. “Same.”

“Now get dressed,” he adds, pulling back a little and smacking your shoulder. “There’s laws against going to school in your drawers.”

-0-

You have two sets of memories.

You remember the game in every gory, horrifying detail, from the mundane right on up through the shit that will give you nightmares for the rest of your life. You can recall building Can Towns One through Seven with the Mayor and Terezi; you’ve got the really awkward meeting between your session and your guardians’ session; you can’t make yourself forget seeing Bro pinned to the Beat Mesa with his own sword.

But along with that, you’ve got a full set of memories of the last four years on Earth. You recall being thirteen and secretly excited about a beta release that never came, fourteen and wondering when you’d hit your growth spurt, fifteen and finally reaching it.

You remember the first dream, right before you turned sixteen, waking up sweating and screaming yourself hoarse until Bro ran into the room, katana in hand. He’d been confused and half-dressed and kind of pissed at the false alarm before he’d noticed how badly you were shaking.

The dreams aren’t generally the same, at least not the ones that you remember. You didn’t have a name for them before, but now you recognize them as SBURB-related. At first, you woke from every single one believing it to be the truth. You remember haltingly relating the details to John and Jade, begging them to remember, then pouring your words into Rose’s waiting hands, hoping for once that she’d be able to twist them into something that made sense.

She hadn’t been able to then, and she hasn’t been able to in the year and a half since.

The dreams came in waves, kind of. You’d have a month or two where they were light, where you could shake them off as soon as they woke you, where waking didn’t involve screaming until your throat hurt. Those would be followed up by weeks where it would take hours to get you back on track, and you can recall days and days where you weren’t sure what was real, where no matter what Rose or Jade or Bro or anyone said, you couldn’t find the line between dream and reality, let alone figure out which side you were standing on.

You always managed to come around. You always eventually put them firmly on the side of _dream_ , and you always let them go in the end.

You’re not so sure now. Before this time, you could eventually find the sticky dream-edges and pull them apart like taffy, could yank until the holes appeared and poke your fingers through them. This time, though, it doesn’t seem to matter how hard you tug at your dreams. You keep stretching and stretching, but instead of holes, you find details.

You spend a solid week turning it over in your mind. It can’t be real, but at the same time it’s almost more real than the thought of laying on the futon and playing video games with Bro. It seems more likely that the scar on your thigh is from Jack tossing you into the twisted wreckage of your apartment than from falling off of your skateboard and landing on a piece of rebar in the road. You have two explanations for everything, and you can’t believe either one, not completely.

-0-

GG: im sorry dave!  
GG: i really wish that i could remember!  
GG: it sounds so interesting  
TG: no  
TG: i mean thanks for the sympathy jade but no  
TG: if you dont remember anything thats good  
TG: great even  
TG: you dont need the nightmares trust me theyre a mind trip i wouldnt wish on anyone i liked  
GG: isnt that saying supposed to be “i wouldnt wish it on my worst enemy”??

You think about Jack Noir, about a sword through Bro’s chest, about the way your fingers had shaken when you touched his cold hand. You wonder if Jack would ever have been capable of feeling that screaming kind of pain. Probably not; there would have to be someone he loved for that to happen, someone who could die without a quest bed to revive them.

You doubt that there was ever anyone that important to Jack. The part of him that loved Jade was only a part, and parts can’t feel pain like a whole can. It doesn’t stop you from wishing that you’d found something that mattered to all of him.

TG: look you dont remember him so i guess thats fair  
TG: but theres not a single bad thing i wouldnt wish on my worst enemy  
GG: D:  
TG: i gotta go harley ill talk to you later

turntechGodhead [TG] has ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG]

GG: oh dave  
GG: <3

-0-

Whatever Jane did at the end there, however the game remade everything, it brought the trolls, too. There are trolls in your classes, in the bathrooms, working at the deli you stop at on your way home from school. They’re completely integrated into society, which you figure is a plus, but it’s still a little disconcerting to have a guy with horns so tall that they probably prevent him from walking through doors without ducking asking you if you want fries with your sandwich.

You’re used to keeping your poker face in play at all times, so you roll with it. It’s not like you’ve seen any of the trolls you would recognize.

It occurs to you several times that you could probably find the trolls you think you know if you look hard enough. You’re good at the internet, and even if Karkat Vantas is a super common troll name, you’d be able to pick his mug out of a thousand others on Troll Facebook or whatever if you looked.

You don’t look. You tell yourself that you’re not terrified, but you’ve always been kind of shitty at lying to yourself.

You contemplate it again as you eat. You spend most of your lunch periods outside, sitting with your back to the wall and trying not to look anyone in the eye. They probably couldn’t tell if you did – at least you’ve still got your shades, even if everything else is fucked up – but it’s the principle of the thing. You’ve been doing it for the past two weeks, since you stopped being able to tell which part of you was dreaming and which part of you was awake. Half of your mind insists that it’s what you’ve always done, so you try to at least take comfort in that.

You don’t know what makes you look up when you do, but your breath catches in your chest for a moment when you see her. She looks almost exactly the same as you remember, from the pointy horns to the red glasses to the dragonhead cane. She’s not wearing a Libra shirt, that’s new, but you’re up and across the quad before you can convince yourself that this might be a bad idea.

“TZ,” you call. She stops and cocks her head, pointing her chin at you, You slow down so you don’t skid into her, and when you open your mouth again, you find that you have no idea what to say.

“Hey,” she prompts after a few seconds of awkward silence. “Do I know you? You’re using a nickname, so I feel like I should, but I’m pretty sure I don’t recognize your voice.”

“Terezi,” you try. “I – it’s Dave. Strider.”

She frowns and shakes her head. “Nope. Not ringing a bell.”

There’s a bark of laughter from behind you and you turn. There’s another troll girl standing a few feet away, one hand on her hip, smirking at you. “Well, well, well, Terezi. I didn’t realize you were in the market for a new plaything.”

“Can it, Vriska,” she says almost absently, reaching out to poke you in the chest. “I’m making a new friend. This is Dave.”

Vriska, you think. John’s troll. The spiderbitch, the one that Terezi had to kill to save the rest of them, the girl that she had sobbed about while curling up in your lap and blowing her nose on your shirt.

“Hi, Dave,” Vriska says, snapping you out of your head. “Get lost. This is girlfriend time.”

Terezi laughs and shoves at Vriska as she approaches. “Don’t be rude to the coolkid!”

“Nah,” you mutter, backing up a few steps. “I’ll just – whatever, sorry. Enjoy your girlfriend time.”

Vriska leans over and plants a smacking kiss on Terezi’s cheek, smirking at you as she takes Terezi’s hand. “Bye, Dave.”

Terezi waves in your general direction, and just like that, she walks away.

You return to your section of wall and slump down, trying not to give in to your urge to put your head in your hands. You can’t help the way your fingers shake, though, so you shove your hands under your legs and wait for lunch to be over.

-0-

“Hey,” Bro says when you walk in the door. You inhale sharply and spin to face him before you can stop yourself, and instead of smirking and making fun of your reaction like you’re expecting, Bro just pats the cushion beside him on the futon. “Got a minute?”

“Didn’t think you’d be home,” you say, locking the apartment door and tossing your backpack to the ground. “Don’t you have shit to do?”

“Cancelled it,” he says. “Come on, Dave. Sit down.”

You take your time walking to the futon, but there’s only so long you can stretch it out. You don’t have Time powers anymore; you’ve tried using them.

You’re starting to wonder if you ever had them.

“So,” Bro says. You wait, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“So,” you repeat.

He sighs and takes his shades off. You feel your stomach sink as he folds them up and sets them on the arm of the futon. Shadesless conversations are never good ones. You resolutely keep your own in place.

“I called your friend Rose while you were at school,” Bro says, and your stomach pops right back into play, flipping around and twisting. “Before you get all pissed at her, listen to me: she didn’t want to say a word to me, and almost hung up before I was able to tell her that I was thinking about checking you into a clinic.”

You go completely still. “What.”

“You are not okay,” he says, simple and direct. “You’ve been varying levels of not okay for going on two years, Dave. You don’t want to talk to me about it, and talking to her ain’t helping anymore” He shoves his fingers under the edge of his cap, and you can tell from the way the cap peaks that he’s tugging at his hair. 

“I’m not crazy,” you tell him. “I’m _not_ , Bro.”

“You’re having hallucinations,” he says. “Rose was quick to remind me that she’s not a professional, but she thinks that something happened that you’re blocking out, and your head just came up with this other shit as, I don’t know, some sort of coping mechanism.”

“They’re not hallucinations.” You’re trying to keep your breathing normal and your thinking straight. It isn’t easy. “It’s more like – memories. Other memories that I have, and nobody else that was there has them.”

Bro just looks at you for a moment, and you know, you know how bad it sounds out loud like that.

“I’m not crazy,” you repeat, but you sound like you’re not even sure any more. Fuck, you _aren’t_ sure.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Bro mutters, tossing his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. “I know that something ain’t right, though, and whatever it is, it’s hurting you bad.”

“It is,” you say. You’re trying not to listen to your own voice as it cracks and wobbles. “It’s ugly, but I – if you want to hear about it, I’ll tell you, but you’re not gonna think I’m less crazy once you hear it.”

“Try me,” Bro suggests.

You do. It’s gut-wrenching and awful, and you end up taking your shades off ten minutes in because it’s annoying to move them every time you need to wipe at your eyes. You don’t go in order; you have no clue what the right order would be. Your own timeline is so fragmented and looped around itself that it probably makes the whole thing sound a lot worse than it is.

Which is, as you are already perfectly aware, fucking difficult to do.

Bro looks at you when you finally stop, drawing in breath after ragged breath and wishing you didn’t ache with the memories, the shadows of your friends that nobody remembers but you, the shade of your brother that you joked with and fought beside and patched up after the last fight.

“Dave,” he says, carefully, cautiously, and you brace yourself. He’s silent for a while, and when you look up, you really wish you hadn’t, because he looks fucking destroyed. “I – holy shit.”

“I know,” you say miserably.

He tosses his hat onto the table and grips his hair in his hands. It’s starting to puff out on the sides from how much he’s been shoving his fingers into it today.

“I told you it was fucked up,” you offer. You’ve got no idea what else you can say.

Bro is quiet for another long moment. “I wish I could tell you that any of that sounded familiar,” he finally says. “I really fucking wish that I could validate some of this for you, kiddo, but you’re telling me that I was technically part of this thing twice, and I don’t remember anything from either part.”

You manage to keep from curling in on yourself any more that you already have. “Yeah. Wasn’t expecting you to remember it. Nobody else does, either.”

“And these troll kids you played with,” he says, and you’re so fucking grateful that he’s just going with it, isn’t saying ‘those kids you thought you played with’ or ‘the trolls you imagined you knew.’ “They don’t remember anything either?”

“Terezi didn’t,” you say, closing your eyes and trying not to remember her smile, red chalk drawings on every wall, how she’d accepted Vriska’s kiss because she’d been expecting it. “I saw her today at school. She had no idea who I was.”

Bro sighs. “How can I help you with this, Dave?”

You snort and shrug, because really, you have no fucking idea.

-0-

You try not to make a habit of watching Terezi and Vriska at lunch, but you’ve got shit-all else to do. You find yourself looking at them without even meaning to, but you can’t look away. It’s amazing how much it simultaneously rips you apart and doesn’t hurt at all, watching this girl you were sort of in love with once upon a maybe-never laugh with her new girlfriend.

“It sucks,” a gruff voice says above you, and you whip around to look before you can stop yourself. You know that voice, know it like you know the feel of Caledfwlch in your hands or the only spot to hide from all the goddamned rainbows in the Land of Light and Rain. He has his arms crossed over his chest defensively, and he’s looking down at you with something in his eyes that you can’t identify at all. He shrugs at you. “She’s amazing and Vriska’s a complete bitch, but what are you going to do?”

“I,” you croak out. Karkat sighs and steps towards you, putting his back to the wall and sliding down. It takes a moment for him to speak again.

“I guess I’m being rude, as per usual,” he says. “I’m-”

“Karkat Vantas,” you mumble, pulling your knees up and wrapping an arm around them. You stare out across the baseball fields so you don’t have to meet the weirded-out gaze you’re sure he’s sending your way. He doesn’t respond, and sure enough, when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, he seems frozen in place. “Sorry. I guess I know you from somewhere. Maybe we had a class together or something.”

“No,” he says, more quietly than you knew he was capable of speaking, “you know me from a game called SGRUB, Dave.”

“SBURB,” you correct automatically, before what he said sinks in and you actually stop breathing for a few seconds. You turn towards him so quickly that you’re surprised your face doesn’t hit the wall you’re leaning against, and all you can do is stare at him.

He looks just as shocked as you feel, eyes wide and mouth hanging open a little bit. His hands are clenched into fists in his lap, and you know from experience that if he holds them like that for much longer, his claws will cut through his palms and he’ll bleed everywhere. You reach out a shaky hand and tap his lightly. “Quit that. I don’t want to clean up after you when you get your candy-ass blood all over the place.”

“Oh sweet Jegus,” he chokes out, and then you’ve got a lapful of tiny troll wrapping his arms around you and squeezing. “You remember, don’t you? You know.”

“I know,” you repeat numbly. “I – you remember it, too. You don’t think I’m insane.”

“I thought _I_ was insane,” Karkat says into your neck. “I remember being here my whole life, but I also remember Alternia, I remember Lord English, I remember the meteor-”

“Jack Noir,” you say into his hair. Your hands are clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer and holding him to you. “Kanaya’s weird glowing skin. Jade’s dog ears.”

You can’t tell if the noise he makes into your shirt is a laugh or a sob. “God, I wasn’t making it all up.”

“Neither was I,” you say. You can feel the lump of tension that’s been sitting in your stomach for weeks loosen, and you press your face into his hair. “Karkat. We’re not insane.”

He snorts. “Not feeling psychotic for once is fucking fantastic.”

“Dude,” you say, closing your eyes and smiling, “I fucking know.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he replies. “I’ve got a great plan. Let’s blow off the rest of the day and go tell each other how not crazy we are.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you aren’t even tempted to pull your poker face back on. You loosen your arms and wait until Karkat pulls back, looking at you with a faint trace of nerves in his expression, but you’re smiling wider that you think you’ve ever let him see before.

“And yet again,” you say, “I find myself agreeing with you one hundred percent.”

He snorts, but his eyes soften as he climbs out of your lap and holds his hand out to you. “That’s because my plans are fucking amazing, Strider. You can no longer deny it.”

“You’ve convinced me,” you deadpan, grabbing his hand and hauling yourself up. You let go of his fingers to brush the grass off of your pants, but reach for his hand again as soon as you’re done. He looks both surprised and grateful; you know how hard it’s been for you, trying to convince John, Jade, and Rose of what you all went through, and you know there were a lot more troll players than humans. You squeeze his hand as you walk away from the school grounds.

He squeezes back.


End file.
